No Matter What
by Yours Sincerely Serendipity
Summary: Oneshot: the Weasley Family the morning after the battle. K to be safe. R&R Disclaimer: I do not own anything it all belongs to J.K. Rowling, unfortunately for me...


When Arthur wakes up, Molly is no longer beside him

When Arthur wakes up, Molly is no longer beside him. He aches as he rises out of bed; the bruises from the battle still throb all over his body. He reaches for his dressing gown and pulls his arm back immediately – he had forgotten about the searing cut. Forgetting the dressing gown, he makes his way to the kitchen. Molly turns, her cheeks still stained with tears from the night before. He wonders if they will ever move past tears. Looking at his wife, he doubts it. She gestures towards the counter and he moves to help her. There are people to feed: six children – _six_, not seven… never seven, again… - Harry, Hermione, and Fleur. Remus and Tonks used to join them … but, no, thinks Arthur, not anymore, not ever…

There are footsteps on the stairs. They are brisk and light, like rain, Arthur knows it is Percy. He can recognise all of them from their walk. Except the twins, he chokes on the thought, they were always indistinguishable, now, they are completely distinguishable… in the worst way… The peeler he was charming cuts into his hand. Molly wordlessly heals the cut before returning to the eggs. She croaks a hello as Percy sits at the end of the table, so as not to attract too much attention it. Arthur almost vomits, thinking of the night before…

… _Minerva McGonagall stopped him at the entrance to the hall, her eyes grave, almost teary. He knew, had known for a while, that someone would leave this world. But who?__ Which of his precious flock of seven? How many? She took his arm and led him in. A family of redheads was down the other end, he couldn't make out who it was… in all his anticipation, only one thought stuck in his mind: let it be Percy. The thought almost made him retch – how could he? – but it was his hope all the same. As he approached closer, he took inventory, like he used to when they all trooped to King's Cross Station – so long ago now – counting heads and haircuts. There was the ponytail; Charlie's short, spiked hair; Percy's smart trim; a short buzz cut; Ron's mess of hair; and Ginny's long, customary plait. Molly is sobbing by the body. But, they were all there! All seven haircuts! Arthur couldn't believe it, they were sobbing for a stranger, another redhead – but, no. Ginny pulled her father to the body. Of course, Arthur thought, there were _two_ buzz cuts. George and… no- NO! Not Fred! Please, not Fred, the other one… the-the traitor, he could… he may have… not Fred! Arthur fell to his knees, his daughter's arms around his shoulders and his youngest son holding his hand. Not Fred… He could never hear his son joke again, and the shop-oh, the life taken! Not Fred…_

… Arthur excuses himself and flees to the bathroom off the kitchen. He stands above the sink breathing heavily, trying not to retch. How could he? Eventually, more steps come down the stairs. Two pairs of feet. The light one, he knows, can only be Fleur; he knows this because Bill is walking with her. He thumps down the stairs, taking them one at a time, both feet hitting each step. He has always done that. Arthur blinks at his reflection, splashes water on his face and walks out. He and Molly had an agreement: we fall apart when we're alone. He hates to disappoint her, he hopes he won't. In the kitchen, Bill has taken a seat with Fleur on the other side of the table to Percy. Perhaps he feels the same… no! He wouldn't, he couldn't. Arthur resumes cooking potatoes. Charlie is next, thumping like Bill, but taking the steps three at a time. He sits two seats from Percy, in the middle, as if to be diplomatic. Then, Ron's footfalls echo in Arthur's ears. His youngest son lopes down the stairs, accompanied by a brisk walk – much like Percy's – and an unassuming shuffle: Harry and Hermione. They sit next to Bill and Fleur. Ron sits next to Charlie.

Arthur realizes that there is one chair too many. He doesn't know what the proper etiquette is for the situation. He whispers in Bill's ear; he doesn't want to set Molly off, she is cooking and croaking "Good Morning" to everyone like one of those Muggle robots. Bill nods and removes a chair. It would have gone unnoticed, except for the stale, unbearable silence of the kitchen. Arthur can't remember when his kitchen was last silent. He misses Molly's yelling most of all. Ginny walks down to the kitchen now: leonine steps which are barely audible. She sits next to Charlie. Arthur knows they are close, that they write to each other often when he is away. He doesn't want George to have to sit next to Percy, but he doesn't know what to do about it. When George does come – stomping, but only one pair of feet… - he greets his mother and sits next to Percy. Ginny takes his hand under the table. Percy puts a hand on his shoulder. George smiles at Percy; it is wane, but a smile all the same.

Arthur, sitting with Molly across from the children – as it has always been – can feel the void. He thinks of the end how he would have wanted it, all seven children, Harry, Hermione and Fleur, chanting around the table: a triumphant breakfast. But he had known they couldn't all survive. Seven is too big a number to hope… but he still had. Six is not his number… Six has only ever been before Ginny was born… and Fred, _Fred_, his son… He knows this is hardest on Ginny, because she was closest to the twins, having gained their respect through determination and sheer pig-headedness. She is crying silently into her food. All the girls are. Molly, true to her word (always), is not. There is no chatter. Fleur is holding her husband's hand. Arthur realizes that Fred will never be a husband, will never see the baby Fleur is carrying, or get to know Teddy, or see the others marry; he won't even be an uncle… It isn't fair, not Fred, not Fred, _why_, why him… Arthur feels faint, his arm aches like his heart…

"Dad?" A flowery scent hovers around his nose. "Dad?" Says the voice again; it is soft, it isn't Molly. His eyes flutter open. He is on the floor of his kitchen; this he knows because he sees the counter above him. Ginny is holding both his hands, tight. Molly is next to him, staring at him with her big, blue eyes. He mutters an apology, and tries to sit before collapsing again.

"You're too old to get up that fast, Dad," George says, laughing shakily. Charlie grins in spite of himself. Arthur sees this all through a mist of tears.

"Dad…" Ginny again, "Dad, we're going to be alright. Fred," Her voice breaks at her brother's name. Charlie is suddenly by her side. Arthur realizes that they must have moved the table, because no one is sitting anymore.

"Fred," Charlie continues for his sister, "Would understand, that we're sad,"

"But not for too long," Ron says, ears pink because he has spoken. He is on Charlie's other side now. Bill leaves Fleur and stands around Arthur's other side,

"You know Fred, Dad. He'd call us all gits, if we didn't-" It is Bill's turn to choke on words. Percy, eyes ambivalent, appears on Bill's other side,

"If we didn't go on being the Weasley family," He says, finishing the repartee neatly, as always. Arthur looks at Percy with an apology in his eyes. He sees now that if it had been Percy, breakfast would have been the same today.

"And that is just what we're going to do," George says, finally appearing in Arthur's circle of vision. He takes his father's hands from Ginny and pulls him up fluidly. Molly looks at her children – not all of them, she will never look at all of them again, but _six_ of them, well, it was still a big number. She finds herself smiling at them.

Arthur looks at them proudly. They are real siblings, _six siblings_, now, but siblings nonetheless. Six is not bad for a war, he thinks. He and Molly were wrong to promise they would be strong: sooner than expected, parents need their children to pull them up.

"No matter what," Arthur murmurs, gathering each one to him in turn, before finally embracing his wife.


End file.
